Baddest cat

Kovu

I think we need some photos....or videos...:D

Milly33

Photos would be good put a face to the name.. I used to worry about ours leaving him home during the day when we weren't here and back to normal this week I don't know why, he has just slept all day.. Thought it was that he was excited in the evening when we came home and he went bonkers but nope he has probably only woken up..

Love the tale of Mr. Mittens

chinacup

I searched for "cats" on boards out of boredom and I'm not disappointed. ^.^

ticklebelly7

Well this week he has been mainly biting water. Just the sniff of a toothpaste tube opening and he's there, sitting in the sink, waiting for the tap to be turned on. He doesn't care about water. I've tried putting the plug in but he just stands there as the water rises round his ankles (have cats got ankles?). Occasionally he will hop out onto the side of the bath, wipe his feet on the face cloths and then back in again.

I have to leave the door open when having a shower otherwise he'll howl outside like a werewolf looking for sausages. No-one is allowed access to water without him overseeing the operation.

Found him yesterday strolling round with a lint bandage in his mouth. He'd just stolen it from my grandson's room and brought it downstairs to roll himself up in. Still, makes a change from anointing the socks I suppose.

He'll be going walkies today on his lead. Considering the bad manners and general thugness of the beast, he's very well behaved on the lead and will walk fair distances. He climbs up on your shoulder when he's had enough walking.

I'll be in Ireland in a couple of days with my aunt's cat who, last year, raised a fox in the fields and then chased it! The dog, on the other hand, just sat around and emitted wind ...

ticklebelly7

As you know, cats are psychic (just try finding them when you have to take them down the vets for anything - you can't even THINK the word Vet before they're off) so the Bad Mitten has figured out when it's time for him to go to bed ie upstairs, in my grandson's room, away from his big Red Friend who he likes to terrorise from a height. The minute he realises it's beddie-byes for him, that's it - he's claiming political asylum under my bed between the drawers where I keep the spare duvet covers. It's a virtually impregnable position, a bit like the Hindu Kush mountains, and he can hold out there for months if necessary.

Poor old grandson will spend hours going round on his hands and knees, trying to cajole the stubborn little brat from his hidey hole but nothing works. It just hides deeper between the drawers. Have I mentioned that it's blacker than a pair of priest's socks. Absolutely invisible to the naked eye in the dark. Half the time my grandson does be talking to fresh air and finds the Mitten has sneaked out the back and is sitting in the front room.

But it's finally Met Its Match! This Ninja Beast, scared of nothing, doesn't like the feather duster yoke. It's not really feathers, it's more a long pole with a nylon turquoise soft brush thingie on the end. And Mitten really doesn't like it. Sooooo, after a bit of judicious herding with the duster, it went off to bed quite readily tonight. Result!!

I will be gone on holiday for a couple of weeks now, to the Wild Cats of Wicklow. I hope he hasn't turned into a jaguar or something by the time I get back.

acequion

Absolutely hilarious posts OP. You've given me a brilliant fit of bed time giggles reading this.Do hurry back and tell us more!:D

ticklebelly7

I've got back in one piece.
First, let me tell you about the Irish cats I met.
My aunt's cat is the most fantastic mouser and with it being harvest time it came back most days with some unfortunate small rodent hanging out of its big woolly gob, dead, (thank God) and looking a bit sucked.
The normal protocol is:
i) open front door when meowing is heard
ii) say Good Cat - who's the best Puddy Tat in the world etc etc
iii) encourage cat to eff off with its lunch asap.

One day a dull thumping was heard from the lower half of the door. Aunt opened the door and started reciting the Words of Power till she realised that the cat had a big rat in its mouth with which it had been banging on the door! Aunt said lots of words beginning with f and h and made it clear to the cat that she was not fond of rats.
Cat went off in a sulk for a few days. We think it moves in with the rich people down the road when it's in a mood. They've built this big house and I could almost swear they've knocked up a smaller mansion for Cat where she sits on a velvet cushion eating salmons fresh from the river.

My aunt is a very religious person and she persuaded us that we should go with her on a coach pilgrimage down to Wexford for the closing of Our Lady's Isle. What you do is, you walk round this island saying prayers, then go for an outdoors mass then walk around the island again with candles in the dark, hoping that you don't fall into the water. Well we had other ideas. We let aunt and her friends go off and do all the hardline stuff, whilst we dossed on a bench in front of the church. We were joined by a white and black cat. Apparently this chap is Seamus Murphy's cat and he's famous for hanging round pilgrims and begging for food. I first saw him outside the Gents toilets which made me wonder about what was going on in there. Anyway, he had some cheese sandwiches with us, but not too much as he had other pilgrims to bother, then he graciously allowed us to rub his belly before he went off for other adventures. We last saw him disappearing up a large yew tree...
The lady in the Holy Water shop was telling us that the cat is there waiting for the church to open in the morning, specially if it's cold, and if they're not careful, it oodles its way into the church and finds a nice warm sleeping place between the congregation. So if you're ever down there, have a look out for the Holy Cat of Carne.

ticklebelly7

Meanwhile, back in London, the Bad Mitten has got a little bit bigger due to bullying the Big Cats off their dinner plates and eating their food. It got to the stage where my grandson had to get up at 6 a.m. every morning, lock the Brat in the bedroom, feed the Big Cats and then get back into bed before feeding The Monster at 7 a.m. The Monster didn't like this at all and responded by biting my grandson on the nose.

Also, Monster has now decided the clothes horse is its property and he will perform rotations on it, swinging around like a Canadian gymnast on the asymmetric bars. Clothes are left on the airer at their own peril. I was unaware that ownership of the airer had changed hands during my absence, so when I came back and attempted to hang up a few pairs of drawers and a sock or two that I'd washed, I'd find them WHIPPED out of my hands and the next I'd see of them would be somewhere down the hallway. It hates knickers of both sexes. My grandson's boxers, twice the size of the Brat, regularly turn up somewhere else.

My poor black and white cat has not been seen during the time I've been away - the only way they knew she hadn't left home was because the food left out for her would disappear from her retreat in the hot press.

boomerang

Pumpkinseeds wrote: »

The ultimate lazy human cat toys are the laser dot pen and the Da Bird toy. You don't have to do much and the cat wears themself out while you basically sit on your butt. Zooplus do a very cheap version of Da Bird, they don't last long, then neither does the more expensive one.

To be fair to the cat, when you're using the laser pen you have to finish off with another toy that they can wrestle, thus completing the predatory sequence. Makes sense, they just get frustrated otherwise. I bought a laser pen for my boys, they have NO interest whatsoever. They're either too clever or too lazy.

This toy requires even less work from the owner than the Da Bird, and only costs five euro!

Cat Dancer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlCktJ8JTiw

Pumpkinseeds

boomerang wrote: »

To be fair to the cat, when you're using the laser pen you have to finish off with another toy that they can wrestle, thus completing the predatory sequence. Makes sense, they just get frustrated otherwise. I bought a laser pen for my boys, they have NO interest whatsoever. They're either too clever or too lazy.

This toy requires even less work from the owner than the Da Bird, and only costs five euro!

Cat Dancer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlCktJ8JTiw

Ours got to a point where they'd just look at the tip of the laser pen then at us as if to say 'really, do you think I'm stupid?:D The video just reminded me that there's a mouse toy on a wire in the back of the cupboard, they get a bit too excited with it and I'd put it away and forgotten it. I must dig it out this weekend.

ticklebelly7

Oh God, I've remembered now why I only have short haired cats.

Bad Mitten came and sat on the desk beside my computer today. Mitten is a semi-long hair with a big furry tail like a squirrel.
As I answered emails I became aware of a whiff... a whiff that got nastier the nearer I put my nose to the Brat.

How can I put this politely ..? He had performed his functions this morning in the cat tray but due to eating stuff that didn't agree with him, he'd been perhaps a little more watery than usual. And as he, like Father Ted, has a big fluffy bottom ... well you can imagine the rest.

Aaaaarhh... you really don't need that before your breakfast.

I marched off with him to the bathroom where I had to wash his unmentionable parts with shampoo. Funny how he didn't like water when he was having him arse rinsed, and him spending most of his early weeks standing in sinks. He now smells of Alberto Balsam which is a great improvement on the alternative.

ticklebelly7

I forgot to mention: when he got free of the sink, he lepped off and hid under various furniture. His front half was dry, his back half was soaking and his lovely fluffy tail looked like a bit of string. He didn't recognise what it was, so kept latching onto this waterlogged peist which was following him around, and going round and round biting it ... Wouldn't let me catch him to dry him either. Oh well.

janmaree

Been there, done that! Quite an experience, isn't it! Had to bath very unco-operative long-haired cat on Saturday, in the tub to try to confine her a bit........still feeling back and leg muscles I didn't know I had! :mad:

P.S. Mine looked like that too but she's older and a little wiser so I managed to convince her that the hairdryer is not the work of the devil and she let me follow her around the kitchen, at a nice leisurely pace, blow-drying as we went. Cats.

ticklebelly7

Janmaree, I remember my only other semi-longhair, a ferocious semi-feral called Kipper which I had when I was a teenager.
This genuinely was the baddest of bad cats and would bite most people except immediate familiy without let or hindrance. She also had a fetish for Polo mints. She'd get into me Ma's bag and lick the top mint in the packet. Took us ages to figure out why some of the sweets were so much skinnier and had no raised writing on them!.

Bathing her was a life threatening experience. I used to have to wear a heavy-duty oilskin together with motorcycle gloves - I promise you this is true, it was the only way to prevent yourself from being clawed to death... Luckily she was a lovely clean cat so we didn't have to resort to this often, but by God, the neighbourhood knew about it when we did.

Remind me to tell you the story of Kipper and the Salmon of Knowledge sometime ...

janmaree

I'll look forward to it!

snowgal

I dunno how Ive missed this thread until now, brilliant stuff!! a few stories remind me of our lil (now huge)) tigger when she was a kitten. keep em coming please

ticklebelly7

Now this story is not for the faint hearted or those of a sensitive disposition so don't say I didn't give you due warning - there will be bad language and scenes of nudity and violence...

When I was in my 20s, I had a boyfriend called Mickie who was a bit too fond of the drink. He was a nice chap but when the siren allure of the Irish pubs of north London called, he found himself mysteriously translated to strange and wonderful places where people gave him nectar and bags of peanuts, and he'd lose all sense of time and he'd hear wonderful music by putting 50p pieces in a mysterious box ... often he'd have no idea how he got home or where he'd been.

One night we had tickets to go to the Robert Emmet's GAA dance - he played football for them. It was to be one of the most sensational events of the London-Irish social calendar with A-listers from all over Camden Town and the Archway flocking to the Loyola Hall, Stamford Hill.

Letting Mickie out before the event was a high-risk strategy but I had a cunning plan. I gave him a list of vegetables he was to bring home to me for the Sunday dinner and sent him off about 3 p.m. with instructions to be back good and early.

I spent the afternoon primping and preening and ironing ... I had high heels and a nice frock and Big Hair and perfume and false eyelashes. I was on'y GORGEOUS!!!

Time passed.
5 p.m.
6 p.m
No sign of Mickie
7 p.m
I was beginning to get a feeling about how the night was going
7.30 p.m.
Still no Mickie
8 p.m a knock came to the door
I opened it and there stood a Vision of Absolute Pissedness. The only things holding him upright were the two carrier bags full of spuds in one hand and swede and carrots in the other. (Fair play to him, at least he'd remembered them).

My night of repartee and sophistication was receding towards the horizon ...

"Get upstairs and get into that (effing) shower now and (effing) stay there till you're (effing) sober" I shouted at him in a kindly tone.

He was beyond the power of speech or protest. He went up to the bathroom.

I sat and fumed in the front room with my cousin Jimmy who had turned up to go to the dance with us. Half an hour went past, punctuated with f's and h's. There was no sign of Himself coming back even slightly sober.
I gave it a few more minutes then I began to get worried. What if he'd fallen over in the shower and was drownded and me cursing him!?
I went up to the bathroom and there he was - Gone!

I searched the house and eventually found him lying fast asleep on top of the bed; he was laid out as if he was dead with his arms crossed and everything. Worse, he was wearing MY bathrobe...

Well! Thoughts of the Robert Emmet GAA Dance were long gone by now.
I was more than fuming. All my fumes had distilled into a desire for Revenge.

You'll have been wondering when Kipper the Cat came into this story ... well here's where she makes an entree.
I had four cats, all of them gorgeous kindly creatures. Except Kipper. Even in middle age she maintained a surly and unpredictable disposition and complete contempt for most humans. She was just the vehicle I needed for this mission.

I went up to the kitchen. I opened a tin of pink salmon. With the tin in hand and Kipper the Cat clutched under my arm, I made my way back down to the bedroom.

Mickie slumbered on in his lager-induced wonderland ...

I tiptoed over and opened the front of the bathrobe.
I took the tin of salmon
I poured the juice from said salmon all over Mickie's gentleman's vegetables. For good measure I also dotted some of the salmon round said parts.
Then I put Kipper the Cat into the bed beside MIckie and retired to the bedroom door where cousin Jim was looking on, frozen to the spot by the horrors unfolding in front of him.

Kipper the Cat was like a salmon-seeking Exocet missile. She homed in on the target.
At first it was okay because she was just licking the juice off.
Mickie had a beatific smile on his face - God alone knows what wonders he was seeing in Tir na n'Og ...
The mood soon changed when the cat started chewing on his unmentionables.

He lepped up in the bed, still paralytic, to find that for no reason he could fathom, the cat seemed to be trying to chew his genitals off!!

Jimmy and me fell down on the floor laughing outside the bedroom.

Mickie acquired a great deal of Knowledge from the Salmon that night, not least of which was that he should really stay sober when I was around.

I am now a respectable grandmother. I don't do those things any more.
But Kipper was definitely the Baddest Cat on the Planet.

mymo

Ticklebelly7, great story, my daughter thinks I'm nuts roaring laughing about kipper and the salmon, although I'm getting worried now, I'm from the area you mentioned and my dads name is Jim!
I will ask him tonight does he know the story of kipper the cat and the salmon of knowledge!

DBB

ticklebelly7 wrote: »

I am now a respectable grandmother.

Having read that story about his manbits' close encounter of the feline kind, I'm wondering if poor Mickie ever got to become a grandad

ticklebelly7

DBB: Not with me, he didn't... in fact I think he went off women altogether for quite a while there.

DBB

ticklebelly7 wrote: »

DBB: Not with me, he didn't... in fact I think he went off women altogether for quite a while there.

I'd imagine he didn't fancy a nice salmon goujon for some time after either :P

acequion

ticklebelly7 wrote: »

Now this story is not for the faint hearted or those of a sensitive disposition so don't say I didn't give you due warning - there will be bad language and scenes of nudity and violence...

When I was in my 20s, I had a boyfriend called Mickie who was a bit too fond of the drink. He was a nice chap but when the siren allure of the Irish pubs of north London called, he found himself mysteriously translated to strange and wonderful places where people gave him nectar and bags of peanuts, and he'd lose all sense of time and he'd hear wonderful music by putting 50p pieces in a mysterious box ... often he'd have no idea how he got home or where he'd been.

One night we had tickets to go to the Robert Emmet's GAA dance - he played football for them. It was to be one of the most sensational events of the London-Irish social calendar with A-listers from all over Camden Town and the Archway flocking to the Loyola Hall, Stamford Hill.

Letting Mickie out before the event was a high-risk strategy but I had a cunning plan. I gave him a list of vegetables he was to bring home to me for the Sunday dinner and sent him off about 3 p.m. with instructions to be back good and early.

I spent the afternoon primping and preening and ironing ... I had high heels and a nice frock and Big Hair and perfume and false eyelashes. I was on'y GORGEOUS!!!

Time passed.
5 p.m.
6 p.m
No sign of Mickie
7 p.m
I was beginning to get a feeling about how the night was going
7.30 p.m.
Still no Mickie
8 p.m a knock came to the door
I opened it and there stood a Vision of Absolute Pissedness. The only things holding him upright were the two carrier bags full of spuds in one hand and swede and carrots in the other. (Fair play to him, at least he'd remembered them).

My night of repartee and sophistication was receding towards the horizon ...

"Get upstairs and get into that (effing) shower now and (effing) stay there till you're (effing) sober" I shouted at him in a kindly tone.

He was beyond the power of speech or protest. He went up to the bathroom.

I sat and fumed in the front room with my cousin Jimmy who had turned up to go to the dance with us. Half an hour went past, punctuated with f's and h's. There was no sign of Himself coming back even slightly sober.
I gave it a few more minutes then I began to get worried. What if he'd fallen over in the shower and was drownded and me cursing him!?
I went up to the bathroom and there he was - Gone!

I searched the house and eventually found him lying fast asleep on top of the bed; he was laid out as if he was dead with his arms crossed and everything. Worse, he was wearing MY bathrobe...

Well! Thoughts of the Robert Emmet GAA Dance were long gone by now.
I was more than fuming. All my fumes had distilled into a desire for Revenge.

You'll have been wondering when Kipper the Cat came into this story ... well here's where she makes an entree.
I had four cats, all of them gorgeous kindly creatures. Except Kipper. Even in middle age she maintained a surly and unpredictable disposition and complete contempt for most humans. She was just the vehicle I needed for this mission.

I went up to the kitchen. I opened a tin of pink salmon. With the tin in hand and Kipper the Cat clutched under my arm, I made my way back down to the bedroom.

Mickie slumbered on in his lager-induced wonderland ...

I tiptoed over and opened the front of the bathrobe.
I took the tin of salmon
I poured the juice from said salmon all over Mickie's gentleman's vegetables. For good measure I also dotted some of the salmon round said parts.
Then I put Kipper the Cat into the bed beside MIckie and retired to the bedroom door where cousin Jim was looking on, frozen to the spot by the horrors unfolding in front of him.

Kipper the Cat was like a salmon-seeking Exocet missile. She homed in on the target.
At first it was okay because she was just licking the juice off.
Mickie had a beatific smile on his face - God alone knows what wonders he was seeing in Tir na n'Og ...
The mood soon changed when the cat started chewing on his unmentionables.

He lepped up in the bed, still paralytic, to find that for no reason he could fathom, the cat seemed to be trying to chew his genitals off!!

Jimmy and me fell down on the floor laughing outside the bedroom.

Mickie acquired a great deal of Knowledge from the Salmon that night, not least of which was that he should really stay sober when I was around.

I am now a respectable grandmother. I don't do those things any more.
But Kipper was definitely the Baddest Cat on the Planet.

Brilliant ticklebelly7. I bet you're still full of mischief,grandmother or not As they say "Don't get mad,get even!" Poor Mickie probably still needs therapy every time he sees salmon :D

ticklebelly7

He definitely developed an aversion to cats as well!

janmaree

I just got a chance to read this now and I laughed so hard I got a coughing fit - terrorised the dog as I fell over her trying to find a Kleenex! That story was so worth it!!! I'd imagine after his bedroom encounter with Kipper that poor old Mickie went off fish, full stop. Not to mention furry undies. Hard lesson, well deserved! Thanks so much for taking the time to share with us, just loved it. Your writing style reminds me a little of John D. Sheridan, I fell down laughing over his stories too, in my younger years! Encore, encore!

chinacup

I actually got hiccups reading through some of these.

ticklebelly7

I've left the Beast eating some flies. It's his new hobby. Gives him plenty of exercise running up the curtains and hurling himself into the void after bluebottles. And it's a cheap source of protein too which is always handy for those of us on a limited budget.

He's definitely smelling his water, as me Ma would say, ie trying to assert himself over the other male. Unfortunately Beastie Boy had the Operation when he was two months old - yep, they do it that early over here in England - so has no spray to reinforce his sense of Entitlement to the Whole Friggin' World. They're all neutered but Orange Chap has Alpha status due to being here first and also being the size of a Fiat Uno.

Brat has developed this technique for getting up close to Orange after being on the receiving end of a few SHLAPS! from the Big Fella. Where previously he'd just take off from any piece of furniture, landing on the big cat's back, he's now much more subtle. He strolls up to where Orange is lying and just casually puts his little black woolly arm round him, being friendly, like he's meeting his mate down the pub. Orange, being a decent sort of chap, gives him a bit of a wash. And then the Beast grabs him by the throat and guzzles him!

Latest stolen food bulletin: half a sliced loaf found in the front room with one piece of bread eaten from the centre out and the rest scattered round the place; bite marks in a baked potato; the cheese sauce slurped off a dish of cauliflower cheese with only the naked cauliflower left for us; peas, lots of peas; hot chicken leg wrestled out of the roasting dish and variously sucked, nipped and otherwise approached with caution pending the time it would be cool enough to eat fully - well I wasn't having that, so I wrestled it back, gave it a rinse under the hot tap and me grandson knew nothing at all about what had happened to his dinner after I'd put gravy over it...

Kovu

Jesus I was roaring laughing at that ticklebelly!

I should introduce him to Koves.....at the weekend he woke me up knocking at the window (why oh why did I give him that habit) and he came in, yowled for food and half an hour later, shoved me to one side in the bed using his claws. When I got him first he had one side of a double bed, now I'm in a single and he's still got the same opinion of 'half is mine!'

Next morning he was AWOL, but I knew he was in the house. Looked into the parents room as it was open and he knows it's an off limits room to sneak into. Nothing untoward looking, except for a few socks strewn around next to the locker........so I opened the locker, which was fully clicked closed, to find master Koves asleep in a nest of socks.

Cats.....who'd have them:pac:

MsBubbles

I've tears of laughter streaming down myself reading about The Beast.

ticklebelly7

Another Sock Fetish Cat, .Kovu? Could it be some sort of contagion ...

Sephiroth_dude

ticklebelly7 wrote: »

My grandson brought home a small black bundle of wool a month ago. It came from a cat shelter so we were all very understanding and kind to it and we tried to make up for the bad start it had had in life.

For the first two days it was very quiet and shy and humble.

It's now bossing the house. It's only the size of a sock but it's behaving like a total yob.

I went into the kitchen this morning to find it had seized a corn on the cob I was saving for my dinner and eaten all the kernels off the top of it.

My grandson's sock drawer was raided; it made a nest in there, which is fair enough - then it decided to repatriate some of his socks to a more suitable place. He found a trail of socks leading out to the litter tray ... and there, sitting in the litter, were three socks drenched in eau du P.

The other day I found it standing in a bowl of potato salad I'd just made.

It terrorises my black and white cat by lepping out at her if she moves an eyebrow. She spends her days in the airing cupboard waiting till it's gone to bed.

My big ginger cat is about five times the size of it - it jumps on him from great heights and lands on his back like a cowboy escaping a bar room brawl.
Basically, it's the most bould cat I've ever had in my life. I'm sure it was a ninja in a previous life.

I don't want it cured. I just want to know if anyone else has a badder cat.

I am in tears of laughter here,thanks for posting .